Love Is Deception
by FromAWorldNextDoorToYours
Summary: "And what does that make me in your eyes! I'm a killer, as much as they were, a monster, as much as they were. How can you slaughter them in the name of justice and restoring nature's balance, and yet you claim that you love me!" M/M Slash. AU in which Damon and Mikael knew each other before Mikael ever came to Mystic Falls.


**Love Is Deception**

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**Disclaimer: The words are mine. The characters are not. Please respect the commercial rights of the original owners.  
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**Warning: M/M Slash.**

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The night was as dark as his mood.

Thanks to the clouds blowing in from the ocean since early morning, neither the moon nor a single star was visible in the night sky. The wind held a nasty bite. It chased leaves down the deserted streets, deserted because every sensible person took shelter indoors. Far in the distance lightning was visible. At the pace the storm traveled, it would make landfall before first light.

Perched on the roof of the warehouse, this solitary man seemed immune to the elements. He was staring through a set of grimy skylights, out of use since the day they were installed, the fleeting whim of a long dead would-be artist. The scene below was strangely at odds with the night, the weather, the silent watcher and the otherwise restful little town. Bodies writhed heatedly to pounding music, alcohol flowed, and riotous laughter filled the air.

Yes, there was something off about the people and their party. Smiles were too bright, eyes too dazed. A girl's scream ripped through the air, drowning out the loud music for a moment. Nobody seemed to notice. There were no pauses in conversation, no turned heads, and no concern.

The girl's scream cut off as abruptly as it began, the man on the roof closed his eyes, drew a deep breath and his lips twisted in a sickeningly sweet smile, as if he alone, out of all the people nearby, read something into that forlorn and fearful sound.

In that moment, hidden behind the first line of trees of the woods bordering the docks, another young woman raised her hands and eyes to the invisible moon

This girl was in the center of a circle marked out with salt. Before her on an altar of stone, lay an arrangement of the tools of her trade. A bowl of water, a collection of ritual herbs, a few crystals and an athame. Four candles were arranged along the edge of her circle, marking out North, East, South and West. A fifth candle was placed at her feet. Earlier she had made use of her ritual knife to carve ancient symbols into each. She had sprinkled her herbs into the ritual bowl, recited a spell and dipped each candle into the fragrant water.

Now, with arms raised and eyes closed, she invoked the elements, recited the same spell again, this time not in her native English but in a long dead dialect of Gaelic. The candles came alive with simultaneous bursts of flame, the herb-infused droplets clinging to them evaporating with a hiss in the sudden heat.

Back in the warehouse, bodies started dropping to the ground; one after the other, until the only person left alive was that solitary, moody man in black watching from above.

He stayed as he was for long, ponderous moments. Finally getting up, he jumped from the roof without hesitation and landed, two stories below, with as much grace as the black panther he resembled. Entering the warehouse he walked among the bodies of the dead, his eyes cold, and his expression impassive. Some he'd met only recently, but most of them had been old friends.

Retrieving cans, he doused the bodies in gasoline, splashed the walls, the wooden supports. He paused only once, when the pulsing strobe lights highlighted a single body in garish detail. Shrugging, he turned his back on his dead friend, guilt a heavy weight in his belly. Exiting as silently as he had entered, he struck a match and flung it through the doors before closing and securing them. His grim task completed, he turned and walked away.

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There was a fire in the hearth, burning low, the only evidence that at least one of the residents were awake at this hour. The resident in question was a man and he sat staring at the fire with eyes reflecting an age and wisdom not mirrored in the hard lines of his handsome face. The back door of the house opened, closed and quiet footsteps could be heard as the person who slipped inside made his way down the hall.

A man, slightly younger in appearance than the one contemplating the flames, came to halt just inside the doorway of the living room, cobalt blue eyes unreadable as he took in the seemingly serene scene before him.

The man in front of the hearth looked up, his mismatched eyes searching the other man's face as if awaiting a response to a silent question. The younger man nodded his head, turning abruptly on his heel and stalking up the staircase. Short moments later, a door was slammed, eliciting a sigh from the man downstairs.

He rose, banking the fire before making his way to the bedroom of the troubled young soul he called lover. Irritated, the dark haired occupant of the room ignored the presence of his partner, the tension building until it was palpable in the air surrounding them. After long moments, the fairer man broke the silence.

"The events of tonight was unavoidable, Damon, and you know it as well as I."

Derision evident on his features, Damon spun around, barely controlling his temper.

"They were my friends, Mikael! And I helped orchestrate their murder. For what?!"

"They were monsters, vile, soulless creatures without conscience, abominations that should not be allowed to roam this earth."

"And what does that make me in your eyes?! I'm a killer, as much as they were, a monster, as much as they were. How can you slaughter them in the name of justice and restoring nature's balance, and yet you claim that you love me?!"

"My feelings for you are quite real. Do you think it was easy for me, succumbing to this need you awoke in me? I'll tell you, darling, it was not. This thing between us, the hunter and the vampire, it's one of nature's nastier little tricks. I should have killed you months ago, attempted killing you, and I could not bring myself to commit the act. I hated myself for it, but in the end one will always find justification for surrendering to one's darkest desires. There is no reason for me to be alone, I told myself, as long as I fulfill my destiny, so I claimed you as my own, made you a part of my calling. It saddens me a great deal that you should question what we are doing when you were so eager to sign up as my accomplice not so long ago."

It infuriated Damon, Mikael's cool and calm voice, as if he was unmoved by the turmoil Damon felt, the lack of emotion causing his claims of affection to sound hollow.

They are interrupted by another before Damon manages to articulate a response. He stays still, attempting to regain control, fearing the slightest movement might cause him to shatter and take some careless, idiotic action.

Without intending to, he listens as the woman who pulled Mikael from his room delivers her report, his body sagging in defeat as she describes in grim detail how the witch they had employed were hunted down, how she had fought, wounded three of the men, and killed another before they were finally able to break through her protective spells to rip out her heart.

The realization of her death is almost too much to bear. Damon had been her friend. Damon had brought her to Mikael's attention. Damon had believed the promise that no harm would come to her. Damon was the cause of her murder, murder at the hands of the people, the monsters, his lover was using to further his own ends.

Weighed down by guilt and despair, by the futility of his love for a man who was hell-bent on extinguishing his kind, the futility of a love reciprocated only with deception, Damon takes one final turn in the room where he and Mikael had made so many memories over the past few weeks. Shrugging on the coat he hadn't bothered with earlier in the night, he made his way downstairs and through the kitchen, a mask of careful indifference in place. Nobody questions him or his motives as he disappears, just another shadow in the night.

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"Should we go after him?"

In the cold light of dawn, Mikael finds himself in the garden, caressing a rose in new bloom. Roses he planted for Damon. Damon, who was gone, who had taken with him the only light Mikael still knew in his existence.

"No. Let him go."

He'd meant to say yes, was surprised by his own denial. Laughing bitterly to himself, he concluded nature would rather he suffer knowing the man he loved was out there, perhaps finding happiness with another, than grant the closure of mourning him in death. Perhaps a decade's head start would give Damon time to change his mind about coming back, or Mikael's own about fulfilling his destiny in this particular case.


End file.
